


without a soul (my spirit's sleeping)

by fandomlver, SailorSol



Series: Powers 'Verse [9]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, it's a tearjerker, no really, second of two, tissues all around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 21:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6167677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomlver/pseuds/fandomlver, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorSol/pseuds/SailorSol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>d'Artagnan struggles to cope with his loss of Ability and learn a completely new way of life, helped and hindered in various ways by the people he's now surrounded by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Archive warnings. I deliberately avoided using them because the appropriate one is not entirely appropriate and I don't want to give the wrong impression - Persis, I can hear you trying to figure that out, but stop now. :P So instead of warnings, I am saying loudly; tissues. Lots and lots of tissues.

Returning to Lupiac like this is easier, in many ways. d’Artagnan hasn’t returned since his father’s death, since LaBarge razed everything, since he started his new life in Paris as a Musketeer. Even with the control he had learned during his time in the regiment, he had always feared that it would be too much, seeing all this again, feeling it as his neighbours felt it.

Well, now he doesn’t have to worry about that.

This is the second season since LaBarge, so things aren’t as bad as they probably had been. Still, d’Artagnan can see fields laying fallow that once would have been filled with crops or livestock. He can see people just a little thinner, a little more ground down than he remembers.

Maybe that’s his memory, though.

Louis - or someone in the palace - has assigned him an assistant, a man called Leroux. d’Artagnan’s not quite sure what to make of him yet. He seems polite and helpful, eager to learn and ready to help d’Artagnan. He’s certainly more familiar with d’Artagnan’s duties than d’Artagnan himself is, and he positively soaked up everything he was told during their trip, asking intelligent questions about the land and the crops and livestock and the people and the differences from town to town. He doesn’t know any Gascon, but they can fix that. d’Artagnan finally sent him on ahead to the estate, to make sure everything’s in hand there.

He’s been sitting at the turn off for his farm for a while now. Louis has relieved the taxes on the land for as long as d’Artagnan serves, and he’ll be earning money. Perhaps, if he’s careful, he’ll have enough in a while to rebuild it. He can put his father’s house back together again.

He shakes his head. If he does rebuild here, the house will sit in a different spot and be built in a different style. Even as he is now, he’d never survive walking through his father’s home.

He starts along the track almost without noticing. He’s glad, in an odd way, that his Ability is currently locked away in a corner of his mind. It makes this trip far easier than it would have been otherwise.

The house is burnt. A few scraps of walls still stand, little else. One of the old storehouses is still upright, though as he rounds it he discovers a hole in the wall. The main barn is half collapsed, rickety walls and half a roof. He makes a mental note to have it properly pulled down as soon as possible. His neighbours to the south have small boys, and he would hate for them to injure themselves playing here.

The fire damage to the fields is mostly covered over by weeds, now, though the fences are a lost cause. All in all, things could be far worse. Ash can work as a fertiliser, after all.

He heads back towards his estate - his estate! That will never not be strange - at a faster pace. The farm can live again, but for now he has duties to take care of.

 

Leroux meets him at the gates of the house. d’Artagnan looks over it, knowing immediately that he won’t be using half of it.

“Did you finish your business?” Leroux asks politely.

“I did, thank you. How are things here?”

“I’ve only made a very cursory inspection, but everything seems to be in order so far. You currently have three staff. I’ve also sent for the man who manages your estate for you.”

“That sounds fine, thank you.” d’Artagnan follows him up to the grand entrance, making a mental note to find a smaller door to use day-to-day. Leroux ushers him into the entrance hall, where a middle aged woman is fussing over a girl in her late teens and a boy a few years younger.

“Madame Dupont,” Leroux says, managing to sound chiding without changing his tone at all. “Amelie and Edmond. Monsieur d’Artagnan, Madame Jeanne Dupont is your cook and serves as housekeeper. Amelie is your maid and her brother Edmond is the scullery boy.”

“No valet?” d’Artagnan asks, mostly joking.

“I can act in that position while we look for someone…”

“I’m joking,” d’Artagnan assures him quickly, making a mental note to be more careful about his jokes, at least until Leroux is more familiar with him. “I’ve no need of a valet.” He turns to the staff. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Amelie curtseys and Edmond jerks in a vaguely bowing motion. Madame Dupont inclines her head.

“I’m sure you’re all busy, so I won’t keep you. Madame Dupont, at your leisure I’d like to walk through the house. I think we can probably close up most of the rooms most of the time. I don’t need anything like this much space, and it’s a waste of everyone’s time trying to keep them clean and tidy.”

That gets a rather more approving nod. “Lunch will be ready soon, you’re probably hungry after traveling. Once you’ve eaten, I’ll be at your service.”

“That sounds fine.”

Amelie curtseys again. “I’ll fetch some water for you to clean up. We’ve prepared rooms for you, but if you’d prefer others...”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” d’Artagnan tells her. “Leroux, why don’t you go and check them and make sure our luggage gets there?” He turns his head enough to glare at Leroux, hoping the message _and don’t make the kid carry everything_ is getting through. Leroux looks politely confused, but he shoulders his own valise and follows Edmond upstairs.

Amelie shows d’Artagnan into a living room, returning a moment later with a wide, shallow bowl of warm water and a towel. d’Artagnan thanks her absently, washing his face and hands and leaving the water and towel for Leroux when he comes back down. They don’t have time to talk before Madame Dupont announces lunch.

The food’s simple, but hearty - homemade soup, sliced meat and homemade bread spread thickly with butter - and there’s plenty of it. d’Artagnan eats more than he should, enjoying the taste of Gascony again. Amelie confirms that yes, everything’s made on his estate, including the ale she provides them afterwards.

Leroux looks surprised to hear that, and d’Artagnan grins. “Not spent much time in farming company?”

“No, sir -”

“d’Artagnan.”

Leroux inclines his head, but he doesn’t use the name. d’Artagnan hadn’t really expected him to, not yet.

“No. I’ve always lived in Paris.”

“We’ll get you out on one of the farms, show you what really goes into getting food on your plate.”

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy that.”

d’Artagnan smiles. “I’m sure you won’t. But if you want to understand these people, you need to understand their lives. From the ground up, as it were.”

Leroux smiles politely. d’Artagnan doesn’t mind. It was a spectacularly weak joke.

They rest for a while after eating before Madame Dupont announces herself. “Are you ready now, sir?” she asks politely.

“d’Artagnan,” he says again, and he thinks she might take him up on it. “Yes, let’s go. Leroux, I’ll meet the estate manager after this.”

“I’ll see to it,” Leroux agrees, heading back towards the main door.

d’Artagnan smiles at Madame Dupont. “After you, please.”

She leads him around the house, showing him the various rooms. His belongings are in the master suite, and he quashes the instinct is to look for a smaller room. Like it or not, that is his place now. He does, however, have Leroux moved out of the tiny valet room just off his own and into a nicer room.

The three staff sleep in the attics. d’Artagnan immediately tells her to move them into an unused wing in the house proper; it’ll be warmer and closer to the kitchen for them. She looks surprised, but agrees.

“And have Leroux help you,” he adds, “don’t try and move yourselves. There’s no men on the staff?”

“No need. The stables went unused, we haven’t been moving furniture, we can manage the kitchen gardens and animals ourselves and we hired local men if we needed repairs.”

d’Artagnan nods. “I planned to visit the local priest to introduce myself. I’ll see if he knows someone who can look after the horses and do some basic maintenance. Unless you know someone, Madame?”

She studies him as though trying to decide how serious he is. “There’s a boy in the village,” she says slowly. “Sebastian. He arrived, one day, no parents or family, doesn’t speak of his past. He lives on odd jobs and occasional handouts. Whatever jobs he gets are done well and quickly, but he doesn’t get many. There are rumours in the village that he has an Ability.”

“Rumours,” d’Artagnan repeats neutrally. He can’t read her tone at all.

“No one can decide what it is, no one can even really claim they’ve seen it, but you grew up here, you know that won’t stop them for long.”

“I tend not to give much weight to rumours. The boy’s a good worker?”

“Yes, sir.”

He nods. This is earlier than he planned, but it might work well. “Send Edmond, tell him to offer the boy a trial. A month, say. Horses, animals, odd jobs as you find them necessary.”

Madame Dupont nods. “I will.”

“Chose him a room, and rooms for you, and close all the rest of these. The study and dining room downstairs and whatever rooms you need, and close the rest. We can always open them up again if we need them, but there’s no point having Amelie clean rooms we don’t need.”

“You don’t want the living room?” she asks neutrally.

“There’s a fireplace and chairs in the study. If Leroux and I are getting under each other’s feet, we can open the living room back up. All right?”

The bow is so quick he almost misses it, but it’s clear enough. “I’ll take care of that now, and I’ll bring Sebastian to you when he gets here.”

“If he chooses to accept the position.”

“I think he’ll accept,” she murmurs. “Thank you, sir.”

“d’Artagnan,” he says to her back. He’ll get them saying it yet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Certain characters who turn up in this chapter are now canon in the Powers!verse, even though this is an AU.

Sebastian turns out to be a good addition to the household, quietly taking several of the heavier jobs from the women and keeping mostly to himself. Edmond adores him, following him around whenever their jobs permit. Sebastian lets him do it, answering his questions good naturedly and keeping an eye on him.

If he has an Ability, d’Artagnan doesn’t see any sign of it.

He hadn’t meant to start this early - he hadn’t been sure he _would_ start - but he doesn’t regret hiring him. Sebastian is the first of what he hopes will be many people accused, falsely or otherwise, of Abilities. He hopes that eventually the estate will be a refuge, like the Court of Miracles; somewhere people can be safe, so long as they’re not trying to hurt anyone.

None of that matters now, though. He’s busy learning his new job.

Large parts of the job, it turns out, involve paperwork. d’Artagnan wonders, occasionally, how LaBarge managed. He’s fairly sure the man was illiterate. Maybe someone read it to him.

Leroux is extremely patient, going over and over the reports and showing him how they intersect, helping him build up a picture of the region as a whole rather than just the area of Lupiac. It takes a long time, but d’Artagnan slowly starts to grasp how hay shortages in one area can affect horses in another can affect markets in a third. It’s tedious work, but quite necessary.

Not quite a month after his arrival, he’s searching his desk for a list of petty criminals he’s supposed to judge. He’s already decided to simply fine them or have them pay it off in work, but he needs to write a note to that effect on the list itself, and he can’t _find_ the bloody thing. It was on the corner of his desk, he knows it was.

Amelie comes in with a cup of tea while he’s searching. He waves her away impatiently and then hesitates. “Amelie, there was a paper here on my desk, headed from Tarbes.” He points to the space. “Did you see it, any time you were here?” She’s hesitating. Why is she hesitating? “Right here,” he says again, tone sharp.

“There were papers…” she says hesitantly. “They fell from the desk when I opened the window. I put them all there.” She gestures to another pile.

d’Artagnan rifles through it, groaning. “They’re all out of order! Did you make any attempt to sort them?”

“Beg pardon, sir, I couldn’t.”

“No? In a hurry to get back to the kitchen? Docked half a day’s pay. Get out.”

Amelie dips a curtsey and leaves at a run; it’s not fast enough to keep him from seeing the tears.

Leroux quietly clears his throat. “Amelie can’t read, sir. She’s not capable of putting your papers in order.”

d’Artagnan scowls, scrawling the note on the list and shoving it at him. “Get that seen to.”

“Sir.” Leroux is always polite, but there’s something disapproving in it today. He takes the paper and leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind himself.

d’Artagnan crosses to the window and stares out without seeing anything.

 

He gives her a little while to calm down before sending for her again.

“I’m sorry,” he says as soon as she enters the room. “I was tired and frustrated but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Your punishment is rescinded.”

He’d remembered far too late that most of Amelie’s pay went to her mother, to help support an ill grandmother. Amelie and Edmond both live on his pay. d’Artagnan knows about, and ignores, the handouts Madame Dupont slips them every so often.

She bobs a thankful curtsy. “Thank you, sir.”

“But,” he keeps his voice gentle, “that doesn’t change the fact that you should have been more careful.”

She bobs again. “Yes, sir. I’ll be more careful in future.”

“Good. Go on, now.”

She leaves the room. He attempts to work for a moment before shoving the papers aside with a grimace.

He wouldn’t have done that, before, driven her to tears. Without his Ability he’s finding it very hard to read people, hard to see what they’re feeling. It’s something he _needs_ to work at, and it’s not something Leroux can help with. For all his skill on the job, he’s not much better at people than d’Artagnan is.

Well. Identifying the problem is the first step. Now that he knows what’s wrong, he can work on fixing it.

He starts by sending marzipans to the kitchen as an apology. Amelie smiles and bobs a thank you the next time she sees him, and he smiles back, feeling a little lighter. Maybe he can do this, after all.

 

The second worst part of the job is dealing with the visitors who keep showing up. Some are curious, and he indulges them when he can and puts them off when he can’t. Some are seeking help, and he does his best for them. And some are simply brownnosing, trying to get in well with the new Intendant, especially since he hasn’t murdered anyone or razed even a single field to the ground yet.

Most of them at least have the decency to send word ahead, so he’s blindsided when Edmond runs in one morning to report a carriage is coming up the driveway. He tells him to run and fetch Amelie, quickly, and takes Leroux with him to meet the strangers.

He frowns at the crest on the coach door as it pulls up. “Gustav,” he murmurs.

“Gustav?” Leroux repeats quietly.

“My brother in law. Baron from a small area near Tarbes. He never thought much of me, but now he’ll have to suck up.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Polite and noncommittal. He’ll have brought Emmy and the children, let’s not make a scene.”

“As you like,” he murmurs.

The coach pulls up and a fussily dressed man climbs out. He immediately advances on d’Artagnan and Leroux, leaving his footman to hand out his wife and two children. “Monsieur Intendant! I’ve so looked forward to making your acquaintance!”

As though he doesn’t know d’Artagnan already, and hasn’t ignored or snubbed him at every possible opportunity. ‘Baron’ is certainly higher than ‘gentleman farmer’ and he’d never allowed d’Artagnan to forget it. But ‘Intendant’ is higher than ‘Baron’ and d’Artagnan hasn’t quite decided how to play this yet.

“You have the better of us, sir,” Leroux says politely. d’Artagnan silently promises him a raise.

“Gustav,” the man declares, as though that should be enough on its own. It probably should, in his own mind. d’Artagnan’s brother in law is nothing if not self important.

“Ah,” d’Artagnan says, as flat as he can. “Gustav.” Emilie is close enough that it’s not _quite_ a snub for him to turn away from Gustav and bend over her hand. “My lady.”

Emilie smiles at him. “How you’ve grown since last we saw one another. You remember your niece and nephew, don’t you, Charles? Margot and Julien,” she introduces the two children, who bow and curtsey politely. “I feel a little silly for not sending word ahead, but...”

“Nonsense, dear Emilie, we’ll just tour the gardens while Amelie and Madame Dupont prepare rooms for you.” He turns to the children. “But this young lady can’t possibly be Margot! Did you switch her for an older girl? Margot wears pigtails!”

Margot looks at d’Artagnan with wide eyes. “I haven’t worn pigtails in years, Uncle. Mama says that I am old enough now for braids.”

“And very becoming they are,” he agrees. “And Julien! You’re almost ready to enter the world of business!”

“Father has started teaching me,” Julien says proudly, puffing out his chest. “He says I have a keen mind for numbers.” He stumbles over the words a little clumsily, like he isn’t quite sure what it means.

“I’m sure he’s right,” d’Artagnan agrees. He glances up towards the house, where Amelie is waiting. “Amelie, my sister and her family have come to visit.” He notices and ignores Gustav’s reaction to his phrasing. “Please bring something to drink and then prepare rooms for them. Tell Madame Dupont she may call in the innkeeper’s daughter if she needs extra help in the kitchen.”

“You plan to have us served by some tavern slattern, Charles?” Gustav protests.

“My staff is small, and they will need extra help,” d’Artagnan says mildly. “Don’t speak of my people in that way again, Gustav.”

Gustav looks as if he’s about to say something cross, but Emilie steps forward to loop her arm through d’Artagnan’s. “I’m sure it will be fine. Amelie?” she says, making sure she has the right name. “My husband prefers sherry, if you don’t mind, and I think some peace after the ride with the children.”

“The pavilion,” d’Artagnan says when she looks a little panicked - he can’t be left in the study and the dining room’s not appropriate at this time of day, “it will be in shade at this time, and cool. The sherry and some water to clean up with. And I think the children would like that nice lemonade we had yesterday,” he adds, deliberately jolly.

Amelie curtsies and hurries inside. “If you’ll follow me, sir,” Edmond tells Gustav with a clumsy, exaggerated bow.

“And you promised me a walk,” Emilie says to d’Artagnan.

“Yes, I did,” he agrees. “This way, then. Come on, kids, there’s a nice open lawn you can run around on.” He leads them around the side of the house, past the kitchen gardens to the wide open expanse of grass. “I haven’t done much with it,” he says, half apologetic, half defensive. “We’re more focused on the kitchen gardens.”

“Nonsense. It’s lovely.” She waits until Gustav has gone to the pavilion; Leroux accompanies him. She frowns at d’Artagnan. “How have you been, truly?”

d’Artagnan glances at the children. Julien is running in circles on the grass, but Margot clearly considers herself too old for such things. “Margot, do you know what rosemary looks like?” She nods, and he continues, “There are some bushes of it just over there. Would you pick some? Your rooms will have been shut up, and it will make them smell nice.” Margot nods agreeably, trotting away, and he turns back to Emilie with a sigh. “What was the question?”

“How are you?”

“A little overwhelmed. Leroux is a godsend, but I’ve not had much training yet, and it’s too important a job to get wrong.” He scowls at her. “Using your Ability is not fair, my dear.”

She gives him an innocent but concerned look. Emilie’s Ability can be fought off, if someone knows enough to do it, otherwise they’ll find themselves spilling all their secrets. “Usually you know before answering. Need I ask you a third time?”

“I resigned my commission for injury. This is Louis’ idea of gentle retirement.”

“What sort of injury?” she asks, starting to fuss.

“The sort sustained on a mission I can’t speak about. I’m quite well, Emmy. Only I couldn’t serve with my regiment any more.”

She sighs. “You don’t look that well. I helped Papa raise you, and I can tell when something’s wrong. You were happy with the Musketeers, weren’t you?”

“Yes. Very. But - “ He shrugs. “We play the hand we are given, and this is mine.”

She frowns, but doesn’t push. “You seemed surprised to see us,” she says lightly.

“Yes, your husband wouldn’t let you send word ahead,” he says, equally light. “I’m surprised he waited this long, now that I think about it. I’ve been here nearly a whole month, after all.” _Month_ , he thinks vaguely, _talk to Sebastian and see if he wants to stay on._

“That shouldn’t have stopped you from knowing it was us, coming up the drive.”

“I wasn’t paying attention, I suppose.”

“You always work yourself too hard. It’s a good thing I’ll be here for a few days to make sure you’re taking care of yourself then, isn’t it?”

“Need to lay in more sherry,” he mutters to himself, smiling wryly at her look. “Well, _I_ don’t drink it.”

“No?”

“No. I’ve seen what disappearing into drink can do to a man. I take a little wine now and then, that’s all.”

“Good. Now, tell me, is there a woman in your life yet?”

He chokes a little, laughing through it, and he’s suddenly very, very glad that she’s there.


	3. Chapter 3

Part of being Intendant is being visible. d’Artagnan takes a ride around the area most days, heads out to other villages and towns once a week or so. He varies the schedule on that and never allows word to be sent ahead, so that no one knows when to expect him. It seems to work, mostly.

And he takes the household to Mass every Sunday, listening dutifully to the sermon and tithing when the basket comes around. Edmond wriggles around a little, but Sebastian and Amelie keep him quiet enough. Leroux always seems as though he’s watching something in a foreign language, even though the Mass is in French. Madame Dupont listens along intently.

So far, d’Artagnan has managed to avoid speaking with Father Jean-Marc any more than he has to. The priest has been serving the parish since before d’Artagnan was born; he remembers how unsettled he always felt around him, and lack of Ability has not changed that feeling. The man is not quite as obvious as Gustav, but he is clearly angling to get as close to the new power in the region as he can, and he has no compassion for those accused of Ability.

d’Artagnan’s leaving the tiny building that serves as the town hall, some few days after Emilie and Gustav have left, when Father Jean-Marc hails him from across the road. Trapped, he stops in place to wait for him. “Father,” he says politely.

“Charles.”

From Emilie, his childhood name was comforting, a reminder of better times. From Father Jean-Marc, it’s unsettling, reminding Charles of the power the priest has, even now.

“How can I help you, sir?” he asks politely.

“Well, now, I think that maybe I can help you. The boy you employ.”

“Edmond,” d’Artagnan says, deliberately misunderstanding. “A good worker. I understand that their grandmother is ill. You’ve surely seen her, is there any help I can give her?”

Father Jean-Marc smiles thinly. “Unfortunately not. She’s not ill so much as old. There’s little to be done for her. But it’s not Edmond I’m speaking of.”

“Leroux was assigned to me by the King himself.”

“Charles,” and there’s a faintly warning tone in the priest’s voice now.

d’Artagnan automatically ducks his head. “You’re speaking of Sebastian.”

“Do you think it wise to allow a strange boy such close access to your household, Charles? He’s not French, you know.”

“No?” d’Artagnan says in genuine surprise. “His accent is flawless.”

“He is English,” Father Jean-Marc says with a slight huff.

“I see,” d’Artagnan murmurs. “I hadn’t realised, Father.”

“And of course, there are the rumours.”

“I’ve not heard any rumours,” d’Artagnan half-lies. He hasn’t heard any - he’s been told there are some, but he’s been careful not to actually hear anything that he might have to act on.

Father Jean-Marc studies him for a long moment. d’Artagnan bears it patiently, reminding himself that at least this time there’s genuinely nothing for the priest to find. d’Artagnan is as free of Ability as anyone else.

“Well, I’m not one for scaremongering,” Father Jean-Marc says, completely untruthfully. “I won’t say any more. But if you’re concerned at any time, Charles…”

“I’ll come straight to you,” d’Artagnan says obediently.

“Good, good.” The priest blesses him, vaguely distracted, and heads off.

d’Artagnan takes a moment to calm himself. There’s nothing for him to find, he reminds himself. “Nothing at all.”

“Six weeks in the job and already talking to yourself?” someone asks from behind him.

d’Artagnan turns, startled, and smiles broadly. “Madeline!”

 

Once, d’Artagnan had expected to marry Madeline. They’d have taken over the farm, cared for Alexandre, had more children who’d inherit in their turn. d’Artagnan hadn’t - exactly - looked forward to it, but he’d been content with it.

But then Paris had happened. He’d written to Madeline several times, apologies that she had always returned promptly and sweetly, assuring him that there was no need for his apologies. They’d parted as friends and nothing more, she didn’t feel hard done by, and she was glad he was happy in Paris.

Now he’s back in Gascony, she’s still unmarried, and they talk as easily as ever. d’Artagnan had always been fond of her, even if he hadn’t exactly loved her, and now he remembers why. Madeline is sweet and kind to everyone, no matter who they are, and he needs that in his life right now.

He invites her to lunch at the house. Madame Dupont cooks up a feast, produces fine china and has the room sparkling and heaped with flowers. Madeline charms all the staff, including Leroux who serves as a butler over d’Artagnan’s objections. Edmond is smitten with her. Amelie seems to like having a lady to serve. Sebastian keeps his opinion to himself, as always, but he seems to appreciate that she doesn’t hesitate when dealing with him; if she’s heard any rumours about him, it’s not apparent in her manner. Madame Dupont smiles approvingly and cooks special sweets and treats for her visits.

d’Artagnan wishes he feels more for her, when she clearly feels for him.

He likes having her around. He enjoys her company. But when she’s not there, he doesn’t particularly miss her, and he doesn’t count down the hours until they’re together again. There’s none of the fire he felt with Constance.

In desperation, he allows things to go too far one evening, hoping to kindle something for her. Madeline is kind about it afterwards, and he certainly still likes her and enjoys her company, but it’s still not what he had and let slip through his fingers. He decides that maybe everyone only gets one like that, and Constance was his.

If his Ability was working, maybe he could mirror her feelings, feel for her the way she deserves. She can do far better than him, he’s sure, and so he does his best not to make her feel tied down. If she can be happy with another man, he’ll give them his blessing and dance at the wedding.

He thinks it’s working, for a while; she grows a little more distant. Still kind, still gentle, but distracted, needing prompting to remember what they’re talking about or what’s going on. Maybe she’s found someone else. He hopes so.

About three months after that disastrous night, Madeline comes to the house. She’s upset, wringing her hands, clearly worried. d’Artagnan dismisses Leroux, sends Amelie for tea and sweet biscuits and then sends her away too. When the room is empty he sits opposite Madeline and takes her hands in his.

“What’s wrong?” he asks gently. “Has someone hurt you?”

“No, Charles, no. No one’s hurt me. It’s not that at all.”

“What is it, then?” He thumbs a tear from her cheek, smiling a little awkwardly. “Tell me, love. We can deal with it together.”

That only makes her cry harder. He soothes her for a while, talking nonsense, speaking only to make noise and remind her she’s not alone.

Eventually she sniffles, taking his hand. “We can deal with it together? Do you mean that?”

“Of course, Madeline. You know I’ll help you any way you need.” He hesitates. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes. You’re a good man, Charles.” She sits back a little, tugging his hand with her and pressing it against the curve of her belly.

d’Artagnan stares at his hand in silence for a long time.

“You don’t have to,” she whispers. “I can - my aunt lives near Nice, I can go there for a while. You don’t have to -”

He silences her with a kiss. “I’m not much,” he murmurs when they ease apart, “but I’m yours if you’ll have me, Madeline.”

Madeline studies him for a while. Tears are welling in her eyes again, though she looks quite calm. “Do you love me?”

“I’ve always loved you.”

“Are you in love with me?”

“No,” he admits, holding her gaze. “But I’ll be good to you. Neither you nor our child will ever want for anything. If that’s enough for you, I’m yours. If not, let’s part as friends.”

Madeline smiles faintly. She’s crying harder now. “I’m in love with you.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I wish I could - but I can’t lie to you, Madeline.”

“No,” she agrees, rubbing at her face. “Let’s get married. As soon as we can, Charles, to keep the questions away as best we can.”

He nods. “I’m not busy this weekend.”

“No.” She smiles. “No, neither am I.”

 

Emilie arrives two days later in response to his frantic message. It’s two days before the wedding is due to start.

“We all expected you two to marry when you were younger, you know,” she says, watching him pace back and forth across the dining room. Leroux has summarily banished him from the study; nothing was getting done, and in his agitated state several things were getting _un_ done.

“That was when we were younger. We’re older now, Emmy, and -” He sighs, slumping into a chair beside her.

Emilie smiles, taking his hand in hers and rubbing lightly at the knuckles. “Come on, Charles, talk to Emmy. You know you will eventually.”

“She’s in love with me.”

“A good basis for a marriage, I believe.”

“I’m not in love with her.”

“...ah.”

“I love her,” he says quickly, defensively. “Always have, always will. She’s very dear to me. But - I feel as though I’m lying to her.”

“Are you? Have you told her this?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then.”

He leans his head against hers. “I know what love can be, Emmy. Real, true love, the kind that burns you up every moment. This - this isn’t that. I don’t want to steal her chance to feel that.”

“The kind that burns you up every moment can also burn you _out_ ,” Emilie notes quietly. “Most people don’t feel that kind of love ever, Charles. The lucky ones have what you have. You and she are fond of each other, you can be friends and companions. Most marriages don’t get even that much.”

There’s no bitterness in her tone. There never has been.

“I’m sorry,” he says contritely. “I shouldn’t have this conversation with you.”

“If not me, then who?” she says pragmatically. “Are you ready to tell me about your injury?” she adds.

Caught off guard, not expecting her Ability, he says “I’ve lost my Ability” before he can catch himself. “ _Emmy!_ ”

“Sorry,” she says, not sorry at all. “What do you mean? You can’t _lose_ an Ability, Charles, you have it or not.”

“I…” He sighs, scrubbing his face. “There - I was captured, another Musketeer and me. We were held, together, by men who - they just enjoyed hurting people. They’d done it before, there were other people there, and they did it to us. Everything in that place reeked of death and pain, and I couldn’t - there wasn’t anything stable to build a shield on. So I turned them inwards, I built them around my Ability to keep it in instead of keeping other people out. But I did it too well. I can’t find the edges to get them down. I can’t even feel them anymore. I don’t know how - “ He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I don’t know if I’ll ever.”

“You really didn’t know we were coming.”

“No.”

“And you said you talked to Madeline - because you couldn’t tell, otherwise.”

“No.”

“You’ve been judging criminals and sentencing people without knowing.”

“Yes.”

They’re silent for a moment. d’Artagnan is half expecting disgust. He can’t tell what she’s feeling.

“You’re very brave,” she murmurs finally.

“I - what?”

“Brave,” she repeats. “And you know you can tell me anything, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

She leans over to kiss his cheek. “Good. Now, let’s go and meet my sister.”

“She’s busy planning some changes to the house. I told her to do whatever makes her happy.”

Emilie smiles at him. “Yes, you’ll be fine, dear. Let’s go.”

 

The wedding is beautiful, for all its speed. Emilie stands with Madeline; Leroux stands with d’Artagnan, though he tries to protest that it’s not proper. Margot and Julien are flower girl and ring bearer respectively. Madeline’s brother, her only relative, delivers her to d’Artagnan with tears in his eyes. Father Jean-Marc is ill and his replacement is a smiling, round faced man who seems genuinely happy for them.

Gustav hasn’t come. ‘Unavoidable business affairs’. d’Artagnan doesn’t care. He’d only turn his nose up at the wildflowers and the simple meal and Madeline’s unadorned dress.

The food’s simple, but it’s very good, and there’s plenty of it. The inn delivers fresh mead and stew in the evening, and just as they’re finishing eating a handful of the villagers turn up and start playing music. It’s enthusiastic, rather than skilled, but d’Artagnan twirls Madeline around, watches her laugh in the starlight, and thinks that he can do this. This can be his life, it can be a good life.

They get four and a half months.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some mild gore and an offscreen death in this chapter, so be careful.

Madame Dupont and two of the village women have prepared Madeline’s room, cleaned and aired and made pretty. d’Artagnan makes it clear to her that he doesn’t expect to share her bed. She makes herself at home in his instead.

The house is slowly transforming. She agrees that there’s no point in keeping all the rooms open, but she opens a sitting room and works to make it nice. Every time d’Artagnan turns around there’s a new painting or vases or matching crockery, new curtains or carpets or wall hangings. He endures it with good grace, and gradually he realises that the house is becoming a home.

At Emilie’s suggestion, they hire on another girl from the village and promote Amelie to be Madeline’s lady’s maid. “I don’t really need it,” Madeline tells him, curled against him. “But it’s expected, apparently, and I can’t hire someone over Amelie, it’s not fair. You should really have a valet.”

“I have a Leroux,” he murmurs, half asleep.

“Yes, I know,” she agrees fondly. “You see more of him than of me, some days.”

He wakes himself a little, eyeing her. “I’m sorry…”

“Nonsense. I’m only teasing.”

He brushes her hair back with one hand. “I’ll do better.”

“You do perfectly. Don’t change a thing.” She settles against him, sighing happily. “Well, change one thing. I have to hire a midwife.”

“Hire whoever you’re happy with, love.”

She smiles against his shoulder. “As my lord commands.”

d’Artagnan really thinks he can do this.

 

Four and a half months into their marriage, seven and a half months into her pregnancy, Edmond tears into the town hall while d’Artagnan is talking with Father Jean-Marc and Alan, the town’s publican, the closest they have to a leader. “Sir! Sir! Come home!”

“What is it?” d’Artagnan’s already on his feet, reaching for his cloak.

“The mistress, something’s wrong - the baby…”

Alan shoves d’Artagnan’s cloak into his arms. “Go. I’ll send my boy for the doctor. Run, d’Artagnan.”

He leaves without speaking to Father Jean-Marc; that may cost him later, but he can’t worry about that now. He drags Edmond onto the back of his horse and races for home.

Odette, the new maid, is waiting in the hall for him. “We don’t know what’s happened,” she says, wringing her hands. “She just felt pain all of a sudden. It’s not something anyone did.”

d’Artagnan brushes past her without really registering her. He’s vaguely thankful that his Ability still isn’t working; even without it, he can sense the fear and pain in the air. 

He’s at Madeline’s room before he knows it. Madame Dupont and Amelie are bustling around. Sebastian’s in the hallway, waiting in case he’s needed. d’Artagnan drifts past him, feeling oddly disconnected from his body, hovering at the side of the bed.

“I’ve sent for the midwife,” Madame Dupont says.

“What?”

She eyes him for a moment before shaking her head. “Never mind. Sit down.”

He obeys, easing himself carefully under Madeline’s head and shoulders. She’s curled on her side, one arm wrapped around her belly; she grips his arm tightly with the other hand.

Someone’s spilled something on the sheets. He’ll have to find out who that was. They can’t just go around staining sheets like that.

The doctor arrives, and the midwife. There are grim conversations. No one seems to need d’Artagnan; he occupies himself talking about the nursery, half finished in the next bedroom. Madeline cries softly.

Madame Dupont leans over to look at him. “d’Artagnan?”

“Yes,” he says automatically.

“You need to listen to me.”

“Yes,” he repeats, and then something _clicks_ and he nods, swallowing harshly. “Yes.”

She gestures to the doctor and the midwife. “They are agreed. The baby’s in distress. Your wife’s bleeding out and they can’t stop it.”

d’Artagnan’s arms tighten around her automatically. “Madame…” He runs out of words.

“They think they can save the child. If they do nothing, both will surely die.”

“Charles…” Madeline breathes, tugging at his shirt until he looks at her. “Save our child? Please. I’ll d - I’ll be happy, then.”

He nods, leaning over to kiss her forehead gently. “I will, Madeline. I love you.”

She smiles, lips pressed together. “I know,” she says after a moment. “Go. Let them do what they have to. Tell our child I loved him.”

“Or her,” he says automatically. He kisses her again, a little more desperately. “Madeline…”

“Go. _Please_ go.”

He looks at Madame Dupont. “Stay with her?”

“I will,” she promises, looking towards the door. “Sebastian! Take him out into the grounds and stay out there.” She tugs lightly until d’Artagnan stands, taking his place to cradle Madeline.

d’Artagnan smoothes her hair gently. “I’m sorry I wasn’t better for you.”

“You were everything,” she murmurs, eyes starting to lose focus.

Sebastian is suddenly there, pulling lightly at d’Artagnan’s elbow. d’Artagnan lets himself be pulled, refusing to see the pity in the faces he passes.

They go down to the lawn. d’Artagnan finds himself sitting in the grass; Sebastian is kneeling nearby, watching him. d’Artagnan focuses on his hands, clenched in the grass in front of him.

Madeline screams. Then she doesn’t. d’Artagnan thinks he very well might scream himself.

The sun moves around. d’Artagnan watches the shadows reach out towards him. Sebastian stays silent nearby.

Odette comes from the house. She’s crying; Sebastian stands and goes to help her cross the rough ground. She kneels in front of d’Artagnan.

“The child?” he asks. His voice is shockingly rough.

“A girl.”

“And -” He can’t ask the question.

“Alive. Alive, but weak, sir. The doctor won’t say - he won’t…” She breaks down again.

d’Artagnan stands. He should be shaky, he thinks vaguely, after sitting for so long, but that sense of being barely connected is still there. He heads back to the house.

Everyone’s still in the bedroom. Someone’s covered Madeline’s face. The midwife is holding a tiny bundle, which she passes over without complaint.

d’Artagnan takes it very carefully, unfolds the blanket, and falls completely in love with his tiny daughter.

 

_Aramis,_

_I'm sorry I haven't written before. I was trying to make a new life for myself, and I thought that meant leaving the old one behind. That was cruel of me, and I apologise. Please tell the others I'm well._

_You won't have heard of my marriage. My Madeline was a sweet, gentle girl who did much to return me to living in the real world. If not for her influence I'd likely still be hiding in my house and avoiding people._

_You noticed I said *was*. Madeline died bringing our child into the world. She told me she would be happy so long as the babe lived, and I promised to do everything I could to make sure. It's because of that promise I write to you now._

_My daughter is weak, Aramis. She was born too early and she struggles for each day. I am surrounded by helpmates; my sister has come, the doctor all but lives here, the village provides wetnurses and supplies and all the help I could need. If a child could be saved by the love and strength of will of those around her, I'd have no fear. But I know that's not so._

_It's cruel of me to ask you, Aramis, and I'm sorry. But please. From a father to one who's known a father's grief. Please come to Gascony. Please help me._

_I am always_   
_Your d'Artagnan._

 

"Send for Sebastian," he says, sprinkling sand over the letter.

"Would you like me to rewrite it?" Leroux offers quietly.

"No. Aramis will forgive me for the failings in my style." He adds 'thank you' because Leroux is tirelessly doing both their jobs without looking for any kind of acknowledgment.

Sebastian taps and steps into the room. "You sent for me, sir?"

d'Artagnan concentrates carefully on waxing the letter. "I hired you because of the rumours," he says, sensing Sebastian go very still. "I wanted to prove that I value a man's character above anything else. I wanted the Gascons to know that I would not accuse them without proof, that I don't care about that."

Sebastian is silent. d'Artagnan looks up.

"There's a man in the Musketeer regiment. We served together, called each other brother. If any man in the world can save my babe, it's him. Do you understand?"

"That's for him?" Sebastian asks, gesturing to the letter.

"Leroux will give you a pass. The staging houses along the way will feed you, give you a bed, switch your horse if necessary. I won't insult you by offering money for your speed; I know you know what's at stake."

"Of course. Who am I looking for?"

"Aramis." He passes over the letter. "Go to the garrison, I've written the address for you. If he isn't present, you may give it to Athos, Porthos, or Captain Treville. They'll look after you while you wait for a response. Say the names, please."

"Aramis, Athos, Porthos, Captain Treville, wait for a response."

d'Artagnan nods. "Thank you, Sebastian. Please hurry."

Sebastian nods, saluting and hurrying out. d'Artagnan goes to the window; less than ten minutes later Sebastian races by along the drive.

"Do you need me, Leroux?" he asks for propriety's sake.

"No, sir. Go and be with your daughter."

“Yes. Thank you." He nods and leaves the room, walking upstairs with heavy footsteps.


	5. Chapter 5

Unreasonable as it might be, he starts looking out for Sebastian’s return three days after he left. It’s ridiculous; he won’t even have reached Paris yet, let alone started back. But he can’t help it.

Somehow, it’s still a surprise when Edmond calls him, ten days after The Letter, and tells him that there’s a Musketeer outside. d’Artagnan almost kills himself getting downstairs and across the stupid wide hall and out onto the drive, and the disappointment when he sees the oncoming figure almost drives him to his knees.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” Porthos says cheerfully, swinging down from his horse. Catching sight of d’Artagnan’s face, he adds more sharply “What’s wrong?”

“Where’s - didn’t he come?”

Porthos glances around as though confused. “Who?”

“ _Aramis._ ”

“He’s not here. What’s wrong?”

d’Artagnan sits down abruptly, pressing his head down as best he can. Aramis hasn’t come. He’s made his feelings clear.

Porthos crouches beside him. “Did you send for him?”

d’Artagnan lifts his head, squinting at him. “You didn’t get the Letter?”

“No. I didn’t know there was any letter. Aramis isn’t at the garrison these days. When’d you send it?”

“Ten days - where is he?”

“Douai.”

d’Artagnan’s heart sinks. Douai is in the north of France, and in Spanish territory at that. “Why?” he croaks.

“Retired to the monastery there.” Porthos catches his chin, rough fingers tipping his face up. “You’re like a ghost - what did you want him for?”

d’Artagnan waves listlessly towards the nursery window, two stories above them. “My daughter’s sick. Born too early. I hoped - I know I was cruel, leaving and never writing, but I thought maybe Aramis…”

“He’d’ve been here like a shot if he knew,” Porthos says firmly. “Athos’ll send the letter on. Don’t give up yet, kid.”

d’Artagnan rubs his face briskly. “Why are you here, then? If it’s not because of the Letter?”

Porthos considers him for a moment before shaking his head. “Later. Can I meet her?”

d’Artagnan forces a smile, pulling back enough to get to his feet. “Of course. I’d like that.” He leads the way into the house.

Porthos coos over the child, holding her very carefully. She almost disappears in his hands. He holds her for a few minutes before passing her back to the current wetnurse.

He doesn’t ask about her mother. d’Artagnan is unutterably glad.

They sit in the dining room. Madame Dupont brings spiced wine and fruit, promising a proper meal later. “We’re a little off schedule,” d’Artagnan says apologetically.

“ ‘course you are,” Porthos agrees. 

d’Artagnan takes several swallows of wine. “Why are you here, Porthos?”

Porthos frowns down at his own wine. “Lot’s happened, since you’ve been gone. How’re...” He looks up and gestures vaguely at d’Artagnan.

“Nothing has changed since I left in that regard.” d’Artagnan can say it steadily now, but oh, he misses understanding Porthos’ reaction.

“Ah.” He looks around the room briefly before dropping his voice. “Rochefort is dead.”

“I see. What happened?”

Porthos looks old when he continues. “He was working with the Spanish. Tried to... Christ, this’s harder’n I thought. Wanted the queen for himself.”

d’Artagnan stares at nothing for a moment. “Is she - she wasn’t…”

“She did a damn fine job of protecting herself from him. Hair pin right to his eye,” Porthos says, grinning for a moment. But it fades quickly. “He tried to poison the king. And... when he found out about Aramis...”

d’Artagnan looks up at him. “You said retired. Not banished?”

“Retired. But not before Rochefort accused a whole lotta people of treason, including him an’ the queen and Constance. But they all made it through. We managed to bring Rochefort’s true intentions to light. King wasn’t too happy to find out he’d been working for the Spanish. Decided they’d finally gone too far.”

He rubs his face. “Leroux has been handling all the official communiques, or I imagine I’d know some of this already. Are we at war, then? Truely?”

He nods. “Treville’s war minister, now. Made Athos captain. He went to see if he could get Aramis back, and I’m here for you.”

“For me? Porthos, I’m - I can’t be a Musketeer. You know that.”

Porthos grimaces, glancing vaguely upwards. “No, I suppose not.”

“If - if things were different…”

“I know, lad. You’ve responsibilities here. Athos’ll understand.”

d’Artagnan scrubs at his face. “When do you need to leave?”

“I can stay a few days.”

“Can you?” d’Artagnan can’t quite mask the pleading tone. “The house is so full, and I - I’m so empty, Porthos.”

Porthos rises from his seat and drops next to d’Artagnan, pulling him into an awkward hug. “Shoulda written us sooner,” he says, but there’s no accusation in his tone. “Would’ve been here for you.”

d’Artagnan nods. “I know. I was - hiding, I suppose.” He laughs a little, painfully. “Sulking. You still have your Ability, after all.”

He huffs. “Stubborn, you are. Should’ve sent Athos.”

“Gascon trait. You’re surrounded now, you know.”

“Well, if that daughter of yours is half as stubborn as her father, she’ll be fine. An’ any woman putting up with you has to be at least twice as stubborn.”

d’Artagnan shivers a little, letting go and sitting back. “Madeline died giving birth, Porthos.”

“I’m sorry. Tell me about her? If you want.”

He shakes his head slowly. “I will, but - not right now. Later, maybe. S’ok?”

“Course. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

d’Artagnan nods gratefully, rising to his feet. “Come on. Let me introduce you to my sister. She’s sort of running things at the moment.” He heads out into the hall, and Porthos is right behind him.

 

Porthos stays, and stays, and stays. A couple of times d’Artagnan brings up his departure; Porthos brushes him off each time, and d’Artagnan stops asking. He doesn’t want Porthos to leave, after all.

They baptise the child; they’ve put it off too long, and it seems more and more likely it’ll be necessary. d’Artagnan deliberately schedules it at a time when he knows Father Jean-Marc will be away, and they get the pleasant round-faced priest again, slightly less happy this time. Porthos agrees to be godfather, and Emilie stands as godmother. d’Artagnan holds baby Babette, trembling a little.

d’Artagnan keeps a little mental countdown going. Now Sebastian will have reached Paris; now he’ll have reached Douai; now they’ll be so far home. He doesn’t tell anyone about it.

Gustav turns up one day to demand that Emilie come home to take care of her own children. Porthos intercepts him, drapes one arm around his shoulder and talks very quietly for a few minutes. Gustav is very pale when he climbs back into his carriage.

“I’m sorry,” Porthos tells Emilie, “I probably haven’t made things any easier for you.”

She shakes her head. “My children can manage without me for a little while. This is where I’m needed.”

d’Artagnan has to go away quietly on his own for a couple of minutes.

He’s had to return to work. There’s just too much that Leroux can’t handle, but he keeps it to the absolute minimum, giving d’Artagnan as much time as he can with his daughter. There’s usually people around, but d’Artagnan snatches time, handfuls of minutes here and there. The wetnurses and staff are good about giving him time alone if they can, and while Porthos usually accompanies him he’s generally quiet and unobtrusive.

“D’you think she’ll have an Ability?” d’Artagnan asks idly one day, running one finger very lightly over the fine hair on Babette’s head.

Porthos looks up from his in-depth investigation of a stuffed rabbit. “Did Madeline?”

“No. But Emilie and I both do. Not Adele, though - that’s my other sister, she’s not in Gascony any more.”

“Better than even chance, then. Emilie’s Mental?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Babette probably will be too, then. They tend to clump.” Porthos watches him for a minute. “Will it matter, either way?”

“Not a jot.” He smiles faintly. “It’ll be easier for her to sneak around me, anyway.”

“We both know you’re wrapped around that finger, Ability or not, d’Artagnan.”

d’Artagnan studies the finger in question, kissing it lightly. “Where else would I want to be?”

“Can’t think of anywhere better.”

“I used to…” He pauses to rearrange Babette slightly.

“Used to?” Porthos prompts him, when he seems to have forgotten.

“I didn’t even know I was doing it, before, but so much of what I felt for people was mirroring what they felt for me. But this - I didn’t know that I could love someone so totally without _knowing_ them the way I used to, Porthos.”

Porthos nods. “I hear that’s the way it goes.”

“I don’t know how Aramis bore it.” _I don’t know how I’ll bear it_ goes unspoken, but they both hear it anyway.

“People are strong when they need to be.” He catches d’Artagnan’s eye. “You’ll be all right.”

“I hope I never have to find out,” he murmurs.

“Me too, lad. Me too.”

 

Aramis is still ten days away by d’Artagnan’s mental count. He’s going over and over it as he walks the nursery floor, trying to get Babette to settle. She’s been grizzling for hours, refusing food, refusing to be put down, restless and unhappy in his arms. He’d sent Emilie to bed a couple of hours ago; Porthos is sitting on the windowsill, keeping vigil with him. He’d offered to take over, but some part of d’Artagnan quails at the thought of letting her go right now.

He’s been humming nursery rhymes for a while, losing himself in the rhythm and movement, no longer entirely present. It’s the silence that alerts him; Babette has stopped grizzling. For a long moment he doesn’t dare look down, suddenly terrified of what he’ll see.

Porthos must see his expression, because he stands. “d’Artagnan…”

d’Artagnan shakes his head, looking down.

Babette is looking back, looking straight at him. She _sees_ him.

He _feels_ her, suddenly, shields crumpling like paper under the rush of emotion. It’s not like anything he’s used to, completely unformed, slamming into him in a rush of _warmsafehomerighthappy_ that takes him to his knees.

“Porthos,” he manages, and then the emotions twist, fading away. He _reaches_ for them, desperate to hold on, to keep her with him for one instant longer, to imprint those feelings on his memory to hold onto forever…

And then it’s too late, he’s followed her too far and he can’t get back. His last thought is to pray he doesn’t fall on her as he follows her into the Dark Place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have reached the end of this section. As before, there'll be a week's break before we start back up with the third part. (Unless I get bored on my holidays and post early, anyway. :D ) A million million thank yous to everyone who's kudos'ed and reviewed so far, and I hope to see you again in part three. <3


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